


Persuasion

by shomaun_ho



Series: CC Prompts [3]
Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Humour, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Prompt Fill, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-06-02 10:47:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19439899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shomaun_ho/pseuds/shomaun_ho
Summary: ' “Where is your next training camp?”Shoma raised his head and gave Yuzuru an exasperated look. He wasn’t looking at him, eyes focused instead on admiring Shoma’s length through his underwear; everything about his demeanor screamed complete nonchalance. It was almost irritating.“Is now really the time?” Shoma asked, and Yuzuru rolled his gaze up, then shrugged.“As good a time as any, don’t you think?”Yuzuru traced the tip of a finger over Shoma’s length, grinning catlike when Shoma shuddered and fought weakly against his hold, searching for more.“Can it wait?”“Nope,” Yuzuru said, popping his lips obnoxiously. “I’m interested now.” '**Prompt (1): yuzu trying to convince shoma to stay at tccPrompt (2): shoma coming over to tcc to get choreo, yuzu pulling him into like an unused broom closet or something and decorating him with a hickey





	Persuasion

**Author's Note:**

> hahahahahahaahahahahhahahahahahahahahahahahahahahhahahahahahahahahahahahahahahhahahahahahaha *oops I did it again plays in the distance* 
> 
> This is in response to two (2!!!) cc prompts I recieved (though the second one mostly inspired location above anything else), and while I am still shaking off a little residual rust, this is the first time in a long while that writing hasn't felt completely like pulling teeth, so I am happy to have produced something--even if it did get predictably out of hand.

The offer for Shoma to train at TCC had been conditional. He was to work with the team on a trial basis, along with a number of other skaters, after which there would be a discussion amongst the coaches, and then between Brian and Shoma’s team, to decide whether they all felt Toronto Cricket Club was to be a good fit moving forward. If the verdict was good, negotiations would begin: deciding who Shoma’s primary coach (or coaches) would be, finding a translator to bridge the language barrier between Shoma and the team, organising a schedule, hashing out a game plan for on- and off-ice training. 

Shoma had faced similar conditions for all his other potential training bases, both those he had already attended over the summer and those still to come. It was perfectly routine, and offered exactly the kind of freedom Shoma had desired when venturing out to look for a new coach. 

The only condition that differed was one that had been discussed off the record, relayed to Shoma not by Brian or Tracy or his manager, but by Yuzuru. 

“No distractions,” Yuzuru had said, an exaggerated pout on his lips. The image of him was grainy on Shoma’s screen, shadowed on one side and lit orange on the other, where his bedside lamp illuminated the otherwise dark bedroom. He was sulking, and Shoma was trying his best not to poke fun, though he felt sure the smile he was biting back was obvious enough. 

“That seems reasonable enough,” Shoma had replied. Yuzuru glared at him. 

“It means he won’t let us train in the same time slots. And if he catches us even _talking_ , he might call the whole thing off.” 

Fondly exasperated, Shoma had propped his chin on one hand, smiling softly into the camera, “Are you sure you’re not being a little dramatic?” 

“I’m sure,” Yuzuru had said, and there was a familiar intensity to his gaze then, one Shoma only saw when Yuzuru was focused, serious. Shoma had sat up a little straighter, something like unease curling in his stomach. “Brian is...loyal. Fiercely so, sometimes. Things will be different if...if you stay, but in the meantime, he needs to see that you won’t cause problems. And—well, he knows about—” Yuzuru had gestured vaguely between himself and the computer screen, “You know. Us.” 

If Yuzuru’s room had been more well-lit, Shoma was sure he’d have seen him blushing. Or perhaps that was wishful thinking, for Yuzuru could certainly see the colour rising on Shoma’s cheeks—he could see it himself, reflected back in the little window in one corner of the screen. 

“Whose fault is that?” Shoma had said, giving Yuzuru a pointed stare. Yuzuru grinned sheepishly in return, and scratched awkwardly at the back of his head. 

“What was I supposed to do? I couldn’t _not_ tell him, after what he walked in on. You know, at Worlds—”

“—stop. Stop, I get it.” 

It had taken Shoma a very, very long time to forget the look on Brian’s face when he had let himself into Yuzuru’s hotel room (unannounced) and caught the two of them in a less than dignified position. He would rather not be reminded of it ever again. 

Yuzuru had sighed, and ran a hand back through his hair. It was already messy, mussed from his constant touching and fussing. Yuzuru chronically abused his hair when he was stressed, tugging and pushing and combing at it, and Shoma had rolled his gaze over the dishevelled strands. His fingers had itched to reach out, smooth it down. Instead he had knotted them together in his lap. 

“I just...really, really want this to go well,” Yuzuru had said. His voice was softer, more earnest. “I want you to like it and I want you to stay, but…” 

“But?” 

Yuzuru had shuffled in his seat, and he cast his eyes down, brushing some (likely nonexistent) dust from his keyboard. 

“I want to spend as much time with you as I can, while you’re here.” 

Oh. 

Shoma hadn’t been entirely sure how he was supposed to feel about that. This...thing, with Yuzuru—much like everything else in Shoma’s life right now, it was far from simple. It was strange and undefined, a relationship made of joking and flirting and fumbling touches, when time and schedule allowed for it, but there was very little talking. Yuzuru had set no boundaries, given this no names, and Shoma was too scared of losing what they had to ask too many questions. 

On the one hand, wanting to spend time together might mean that Yuzuru had wished to use this opportunity to make up for all the days on which their stars had not aligned over the last couple of seasons—wherever and whenever they could. 

Or—and Shoma dared not let himself consider this option too much—it could me that, perhaps, Yuzuru had simply missed him. _Him_ , not them. Not what they did. That Yuzuru wanted to soak up as much of Shoma’s company as he could, regardless of the activity. 

“And Brian is going to make that harder than I thought it’d be.” 

Shoma had blinked, pulled out of his musings by Yuzuru’s voice coming tinny over the speakers. 

“There will be time,” Shoma had assured him. “There will be plenty of time when we’re not training.” 

Yuzuru had hummed, but he hadn’t looked any less melancholy. Shoma had felt an odd ache in his chest, watching Yuzuru’s pitiful expression; sympathy, and empathy. It made him feel strangely hollow, thinking about how little of his time at TCC would be spent in Yuzuru’s company compared to what he had initially imagined. It was stupid, perhaps, but Yuzuru’s presence had most certainly been an inciting factor in his choosing to persue TCC as a potential training base; to skate with him, train with him, feel that tug of motivation only Yuzuru gave him on a daily basis, learn from him and with him—all of these things had contributed to his decision.

And, for the trial period at least, that might not be possible. 

It stung, but Shoma understood. He was sure Mihoko would have done the same, had the roles been reversed. Protecting their current students was any coaches priority. If Shoma was to hinder Yuzuru’s progress in any way, it would be unfair for Brian to keep him.

“And it’s just for the time being, right? If I like it, and they like me, things might change.” 

Yuzuru had nodded at him. 

“And we’d be able to train together?” 

A small smile had tugged at Yuzuru’s lips, and when he’d raised his eyes back to the camera, they were bright, shining. 

“Yeah,” he’d said.

Cheeks pleasantly warm, Shoma had smiled, too—a teasing lilt to one corner of his mouth. 

“Then you’d better work hard, and persuade me to stick around.” 

* * *

Shoma had not expected Yuzuru to take that as a challenge. 

His training camp was set to last four weeks. During that time, Shoma worked with a variety of coaches and trainers throughout the club—each person, it seemed, had their own niche in which they specialised, and though it was a little difficult to adjust to a multitude of different teaching and working attitudes, it was enriching to learn from somebody who had devoted all of their time and energy into perfecting one skill, and paying it forward. 

The skaters, too, were friendly. It felt good to work day in and day out with a group of competitors who were leading their fields—challenging, in a refreshing kind of way. It was nice, too, that Evgenia and Jason spoke a little Japanese, and that for most of his on-ice sessions, he had at least one of them for company. Nobody treated him—or any of the other new faces—like they were guests; they were all welcomed like family, and treated just as kindly. 

Yuzuru, though, had been right. Brian had been very careful to ensure that his and Yuzuru’s schedules had not overlapped for the three weeks Shoma had been with the group so far. It was a deliberate decision, and obviously so; Jason had pointed it out after the first two weeks, and his questioning had been gentle, and concerned. He had queried as to whether everything was alright between the two of them—whether Yuzuru was perhaps unhappy about Shoma’s presence or vice versa, and though Shoma had been quick to assure him that that was not the case, he hadn’t elaborated on what the problem _was_. 

Shoma was trying hard. He liked the club—it was the most well-rounded training base he had tried so far, both in terms of skill and treatment. They were pushed and prodded, edged just beyond their boundaries, but they were also listened to. If something was too much, or not working, or they were plagued by aches or pains that felt more than minor niggles, they were permitted to stop and rest or rethink. Shoma liked the wiggle room—he didn’t often want to quit before it was time, but it felt good, knowing that the option was there. 

He still had more training camps scheduled. Some on the longer side, some quick pit stops, and he still planned on giving them a fair chance, but TCC felt good. Shoma felt confident that he could be happy here, that he could progress, push beyond the places Mihoko and Machiko had taken him. In order to stand the best chance of having a more permanent place offered, he had to be careful not to overstep, and that meant keeping his head down, not being a distraction to other skaters—particularly to Yuzuru. 

As promised, they had spent plenty of time together away from the club. Most of it had been spent in Shoma’s hotel room, and while a good chunk of their evenings had passed by in the bed (or the shower, or the floor, or wherever Yuzuru wanted him) a lot of it had been spent just...being together. Watching movies, or eating dinner, or talking, and on more than one occasion they had simply been together, without much interaction at all. Shoma stretched on the bed playing games, while Yuzuru propped himself up against the pillows, laptop before him, eyes darting over the screen while he scribbled in his notebook. 

It was nice. It was comfortable. 

Shoma didn’t want it to stop. 

He wondered if things would be the same, should he stay here. If they would spend pointless evenings together like this, or if Yuzuru would tire of his company. The prospect was exciting and frightening in equal measure.

At the rink, they only saw each other in passing, and they both diligently ignored one another—Shoma found himself ignoring Yuzuru extra hard, if Brian was around. And it was _hard_ , when Yuzuru was so full of smiles and laughter here. It was difficult to keep his eyes away when he knew how radiant Yuzuru would look—eyes bright and alive, cheeks blushing pink, happiness pouring out of him like sunlight. Shoma knew if he were to allow himself even just one glance, he might never stop looking.

It was better to avoid any and all interaction or observation. And Shoma managed it very well, until his last week at the club. 

In Shoma’s defense, it was entirely Yuzuru’s fault. 

He had just finished his last session of the day—thirty minutes of jump training, drilling his flip with the new technique. Ghislain had helped him correct the heft of his takeoff, which, he had been assured, would make his landings more stable. _Better take off, better landing_. But it was a hard habit to break, and Shoma found himself landing on his ass far more than on his foot. 

He was aching. His hip smarted where it had taken the brunt of one particularly nasty fall, and the skin felt tender to the touch. It would bruise, he was sure, and he wouldn’t be surprised if the welt was already colouring beneath his training pants. Ghislain had congratulated him on a job well done, and disappeared to talk to console Jason over the instability his salchow had shown in the last half an hour, and Shoma had hobbled over to the changing rooms to shower and switch into comfortable, dry clothing. 

He almost forgot his phone had been in his jacket pocket, until he upended it by mistake and sent the device clattering onto the floor. Cursing, he picked it up, hoping against hope he hadn’t smashed yet another screen—he’d been lucky, this time. No cracks, only a line of notifications through which he scrolled absently, sitting gingerly on the bench. 

Three texts from Itsuki, asking about Canada, about training, about his new high score and how the hell he got it. From Keiji, pointing out that they are currently in the same time zone while he worked on some choreography in America, and that they should use the time to catch up. From his mother, asking if this camp was letting him eat. From Mihoko—he felt a dull pang of longing, seeing her name—just checking in. 

And one from Yuzuru, sent not even ten minutes ago. 

_Hey! Head to the dance studio on the second floor when you’re done?_

Shoma stared at the message. It wasn’t unusual for Yuzuru to text him on breaks, but those messages were usually to find out what time Shoma was finished for the day, organise where they would meet, what they would do for the evening. It felt risky, to meet up in the building, regardless of what Yuzuru had planned. 

But...but Shoma _was_ done for the day. And surely Yuzuru wouldn’t have asked him to meet if he still had sessions on his schedule. 

And they had been so _very_ good. One little interaction couldn’t hurt, could it? 

Shoma bounced his knee and chewed on his lip, thumbs hovering over the screen. He should say no. They can see each other in a few hours, if Yuzuru really wants to, back at the hotel. Or they can go out for food, if Yuzuru is feeling adventurous. It isn’t worth the risk, breaking Brian’s one rule for them. 

As though Yuzuru could sense Shoma’s hesitation, he sent another text. This one simply said: 

_C’mon, I’m just doing some physio, then I’ll be done for the day._

And then, as though as an afterthought: 

_Brian isn’t even here, so don’t worry._

Shoma chewed on his lip some more, thinking. If Brian wasn’t here, couldn’t catch them, and they were going to be leaving soon anyway, it really didn’t seem like a big deal at all, to meet Yuzuru inside the building for once instead of out of it. 

And that’s all they were doing—surely, even if Brian were to find out, he couldn’t have a problem with it? Not when it was just once, in the whole time Shoma had been here so far. 

Maybe it was a stupid idea. Maybe it was an unnecessary risk. Maybe Yuzuru was cruel for tempting him. 

Definitely, Shoma was an idiot for giving in. 

_Alright. I’ll be five minutes._

* * *

TCC was a maze of hallways and rooms traversing multiple floors, and it took Shoma longer than he had anticipated to find the dance studio Yuzuru had directed him to. He was very used to his own rink, and knew the building it resided in, and even some of those surrounding it, like the back of his hand. Attending different camps in different locales made everything fuzzy, and sometimes what he thought he knew turned out to be a memory of a rink he had previously attended. He had been so sure the dance studio was close to the rink—and it was, only, up the opposite staircase to the one Shoma had taken. 

After tripling his journey time by taking several wrong turns and looping an entire floor, Shoma stopped outside the door to the studio, and took a bracing breath. 

He felt oddly giddy, much like a naughty child knowingly and willfully breaking a long adhered to rule. 

The moment he pushed open the door, he was greeted by Yuzuru’s music. Obnoxiously loud drum and bass contrasted almost comically to the thoroughly peaceful image of Yuzuru stretched out on a mat, legs split to the sides, gangly arms stretching to grab first at one foot, then slowly switching to the other. 

He looked up as Shoma came in, and smiled brightly. Despite the relative calm of his stretches, Yuzuru’s face was shining with a thin sheen of sweat, and the hair at his brow was damp. Shoma let the door close behind him, and wheeled his case into the corner, depositing it, along with his backpack, beside Yuzuru’s things. 

“I didn’t know we were allowed in here,” Shoma said. He toed off his shoes and crossed the floor, watching as Yuzuru sat slowly upright, absently wriggling his toes. 

“Mhm,” he said, and pointed a hand back towards the door. “You can book it out, if there are no sessions scheduled.” 

By the door there was a little screen which Shoma squinted at, and, sure enough, he could see Yuzuru’s name alongside a two hour time slot. Shoma checked the time on his phone—if Yuzuru had planned on staying the entire time, he still had an hour and a half left. 

“I thought you said you were nearly done?” 

“I said I have physio first—which I do—and that I’ll be done for the day when I’m finished, which I will.” He gave Shoma a cheeky grin, and teased, “I never said how long I would be.” 

At Yuzuru’s tone, Shoma bent down and flicked him between the brows. Yuzuru made a half-hearted grab for his hand, still grinning, but did not chase when Shoma stepped away. 

“Make yourself comfortable,” he said. He waved to another corner, where a pile of mats were stacked away neatly. Shoma dragged one off the pile, and laid it down near the mirrored wall. 

“Will I be in the way here?” 

Yuzuru shook his head. 

“No, you’re fine.” 

Shoma kicked the mat further across the floor. “How about here?” 

He dodged the sweaty towel Yuzuru launched at him, snickering, and dropped onto his mat. Though the foam was softer than the hardwood floor, it still felt stiff and uncomfortable against his fresh bruises. He hissed quietly, and rolled onto his stomach instead, laying to rest his head on his arms and looking over at Yuzuru. 

Yuzuru was watching him, a strange look on his face. Shoma raised a brow at him. 

“What?” 

“Nothing.” 

Yuzuru’s voice came so softly, so unexpectedly tender, that it made Shoma blush. He tucked his mouth and chin into the bend of his elbow and blinked at Yuzuru through the hanging tips of his fringe. Yuzuru was still looking at him with that odd expression; face soft and open, every blink of his eyes drawn and slow, a small, unconscious smile playing at the edges of his mouth. If Shoma were to put a name to it, he’d call it fondness, but perhaps that was wishful thinking. 

After a moment, Yuzuru seemed to blink himself back into the present, and he drew himself to stand, stretching his back. Something gave a satisfying pop. 

“I haven’t really asked yet,” Yuzuru said, “but how are you liking it here?” 

Shoma had been expecting the question to come at any moment over the last few weeks. Yuzuru had seemed so eager, before he arrived, so hopeful that Shoma would enjoy himself, that Brian and the team would like having him, that they would be a good fit for each other. He’d been almost waiting for it, his answer at the ready, but Yuzuru had never once brought it up—content instead to just enjoy the time in which Shoma was here. Shoma had begun to wonder if, perhaps, now that Yuzuru had had a taste of having Shoma in his company for an extended period, he had somewhat lost his enthusiasm for the idea. 

Maybe that’s why the question caught him so off guard now. He stuttered, and floundered, before finally saying, “It’s good.” 

Yuzuru snorted. He was fidgeting with an array of objects he’d pulled out of a bag—resistance bands of varying intensity, a few wobble cushions, straps, tape, all rude reminders that the injury to his ankle was still lingering, still requiring a touch of special treatment. Shoma hoped they were just being careful. He didn’t dare ask to find out. 

“Gosh, don’t hold back your enthusiasm,” Yuzuru teased. He brought his haul over towards his mat and settled again, beginning what must, by now, be a familiar routine. “Seriously, though. Are you enjoying it?” 

“Yeah,” Shoma said. “I am. I like it here a lot.” 

The smile Yuzuru shot him was blinding. 

“Yeah?” He said, face lighting up. Shoma hid his smile in his elbow. 

“Mhm,” he hummed. “It’s nice. The work is hard, but the atmosphere is good. Friendly.” 

Yuzuru preened, openly proud of the family he had found for himself here. 

“I’m glad,” he said. Then he chewed on his lip, and added, “do you...think you’re gonna stay? If you can?” 

Shoma shrugged, as best he could with his head on his forearms. 

“I still have arrangements with a few other places. It wouldn’t be fair, not to give them a chance.” 

Yuzuru’s smile faltered. Shoma felt a twinge of guilt, but he was an honest person, and Yuzuru would get an honest answer. 

“It’s my favourite so far,” he said appeasingly. “And I’ll definitely consider it, if Brian makes me an offer.” 

Yuzuru seemed somewhat mollified by that, but not wholly content. 

“I guess we’ve got more persuading to do, huh?” he said. Shoma swung his legs lazily behind him, crossing his ankles. 

“I did say you’d have to work hard.” 

“Noted. I’ve got a few days left, right?” Shoma hummed. Yuzuru began a methodical twisting and rolling of his foot, as he added, “I’ll try my very best, then.” 

He set to work, after that, running through well-practiced exercises, some of which Shoma had done when rehabilitating his own injury, others that must be stretching and strengthening muscles and tendons Shoma had never damaged himself. It was soothing, in a way, to watch Yuzuru work. As with almost everything Yuzuru did, his execution was fluid and sure; Shoma watched him as he stretched, rolled, bent, twisted, and at some point in the beautiful monotony, his eyes began to droop. 

It was strange, the sensation that woke him. Weight against his back—not pressing, in fact it was so bare that Shoma wondered, it first, if he had perhaps imagined it. And then a tickle, and a draft, as the hem of his shirt slid slowly up his back, exposing new skin to the air conditioned room. And then, something impossibly soft and featherlight, following the path of his shirt—right up the column of his spine. He twitched, and shifted, and for a moment, the gentle touch stopped. 

He had barely woken at all. Caught in a strange space between sleep and wake, drifting aimlessly, unsure whether to push forward or fall back into slumber. He had no real desire to wake up, not when he was so comfortable, but the return of those tender touches kept him from slipping back out of consciousness. 

The travelling hem of his shirt stilled at his armpits, unable to go any further without his moving to allow for it, and the smooth graze that had followed it relocated, this time to the back of his neck, lifting the hairs there and raising goosebumps across his skin. 

Shoma squirmed again, and the silky caress withdrew, though only for a moment, before it was replaced with something warm, more solid, and through the haze of sleep, Shoma registered what it was. 

Lips, open against his skin. The realisation drew the smallest moan from Shoma’s throat. 

Emboldened by the sound, the mouth made its way down his back again—though this time, each kiss lingered longer than the last. Applied a little more pressure. Sucked languidly at his skin. And the touches did not follow a straight line, this time; they zigzagged, trailing from one side to the other, mouthing at every patch of skin along the way. 

By the time they had kissed their way down to the waistband of his sweats, Shoma was breathing a touch too heavy, a little too fast. It felt impossibly good, to be touched like that—so simply, so delicately. It made him shiver, skin tingling warm and pleasant. 

“Are you awake yet?” 

Yuzuru’s voice sounded rough and quiet, barely more than a whisper. Shoma groaned just as quietly, but the cloak of sleep still lay heavily over him, and words were hard. He felt Yuzuru smile against the bottom of his back. 

One of Yuzuru’s hands found his hip, long, thin fingers curling around it, and the other settled on the outside of Shoma’s thigh, thumb brushing just beneath the curve of his ass. Shoma groaned again, blinking laboriously. The tip of Yuzuru’s nose brushed against one of his ass cheeks, and Shoma unconsciously tilted his hips back, closer. Yuzuru blew out a breath, and even though his sweats Shoma could feel the heat of it. 

Yuzuru pressed two long, open mouthed kisses to him—first on one cheek, then the other, mouthing wetly at the fabric. Shoma had always thought these sweats were a touch too thin for comfort, but now they felt far too thick—too much of a barrier. 

“ _Mm_ ,” he breathed, lifting his hips back again. Yuzuru’s fingers tightened their grip on him, and he moved his face, burrowing between the two firm globes. Shoma made another small, sleepy sound, and shifted his weight to his knees, pressing keenly into the warm breaths Yuzuru was blowing against him. 

“Yuzu,” he said, airy and distant. Yuzuru gave his thigh a reassuring squeeze, and opened his mouth, pressing more firmly against him, finding the place Shoma wanted him with practiced ease even with a layer of clothing in his way. Shoma let out a pitiful sound, close to a whimper, and eased himself further back, mouth falling open silently as Yuzuru’s tongue poked between his teeth, applying a dizzying pressure. 

Shoma couldn’t help but imagine how much better this would feel without clothing. Yuzuru lapping at him, teasing the twitching muscle of his hole, kissing and sucking at him until he was trembling, desperate. 

But they couldn’t, not that. 

Yuzuru worked him over exactly as he would if they were undressed; thoroughly unhurried, savouring every sound he drew from Shoma’s lips. And Shoma let him, rolling back onto the press of his tongue, taking all the pleasure he could get. The fabric had grown damp and it pressed oddly against him, and he knew it would rub Yuzuru’s lips red and raw, knew that he should stop before Yuzuru irritated the skin beyond repair, but it felt too good. They hadn’t done _this_ since—Shoma couldn’t even remember the last time. He wanted to savour it, and the sleepiness still clouding him made it so easy to shirk any responsibility. 

He gave perhaps his loudest moan yet, when Yuzuru pulled back, but it was one of pure disappointment. Yuzuru gave a breathy chuckle, and rubbed his thumb back and forth across Shoma’s thigh, soothing him. 

“You good?” He asked. Shoma nodded. His breathing was distinctly ragged, and his thighs shook a little where they held his weight. Yuzuru stretched to press another kiss to the bottom of Shoma’s back, then crawled up over him, and laved languorously at the point where neck met shoulder. 

Shoma rolled his head to one side, offering more, and Yuzuru drew his lips along the newly exposed skin, humming contentedly. Shoma could feel the weight of him hovering over his back, wanted him to settle, press against him. But Yuzuru stayed propped above him like that, keeping a deliberate distance but for his mouth, which had made its way to the point of Shoma’s jaw, and was mouthing at the ruddy skin there. 

“Good nap?” Yuzuru murmured against him. Shoma hummed, blinked sluggishly. It was difficult to open his eyes and to focus, with his tiredness and the way Yuzuru was toying with him, and when he finally managed it he was met with his own reflection staring groggily back at him. 

“Yuzu,” he gasped, blinking rapidly now, awareness sinking in. They were still at TCC, still in the dance studio, still in a very public setting where anyone could walk in on them. Where _Brian_ could catch them. “Yuzuru, we can’t—we shouldn’t be doing this—not here.” 

Yuzuru laughed quietly, nudging his nose against Shoma’s cheek. 

“It’s fine,” he said. “Nobody comes in here when I have it booked out, usually.” 

“ _Usually_.” 

“It’s _fine_ ,” he said again, laughing this time. “I locked it, nobody can get in anyway.” 

Shoma twisted to look at Yuzuru, intent on squinting threateningly at him, but Yuzuru’s face was so close, and when he twisted, Yuzuru’s lips brushed lazily against his own, driving all thoughts of _threatening_ out of his mind. 

They didn’t kiss all that often. Not softly, not like this—most of the time their kisses were messy, a means to an end, part of the process, but the way Yuzuru kissed him now was tender, purposeless. A gentle kiss, for the simple sake of kissing. 

Shoma returned it just as gently, chaste but lingering. Warmth flooded him, a kind of contentment that drove away the dregs of his anxieties, leaving him empty, yet somehow so pleasantly and weightlessly full. 

They deepened their kisses slowly. From close mouthed to open, and from open mouthed to a peek of tongue, and from a peek to a lick; a methodical progression, but somehow every new step felt as thrilling as if it were a complete surprise. 

As they did, Yuzuru prodded Shoma to roll onto his back instead. The bruise on his hip twinged and it ripped a strange sound from him, not quite a cry, but more frantic than a groan, and Yuzuru pulled away from him, searching his face. 

“What?” he asked. He sounded about as breathless as Shoma felt. Shoma shook his head, bringing an insistent hand up to the back of Yuzuru’s head and drawing him closer, kissing at the corner of his mouth. 

“Nothing. Rough practice.” 

Yuzuru fell back into their kisses for only a moment. He pulled away again and Shoma followed him helplessly, nipping at his bottom lip and suckling on the plump flesh. And though Yuzuru gave in for a second more, licking into Shoma’s open mouth and nipping teasingly in return, he eventually dragged himself out of reach, sinking instead to kiss at Shoma’s throat, then his collar.

“It hurts?” He asked. Shoma threaded his fingers into the hair at the back of Yuzuru’s head, holding him gently to his chest as Yuzuru pushed the hem of his shirt further up and out of his way, sucking a kiss agonisingly close to one of Shoma’s nipples. Shoma hummed his yes, eyes drifting closed as Yuzuru moved from one side of his chest to the other. 

“Where?” He asked quietly. 

“Mm. Everywhere.” 

Yuzuru pinched him for his cheek, and continued his steady path downward. Shoma arched involuntarily into his every little peck and hot open kiss, his hand cradling the back of Yuzuru’s head, keeping him close. Yuzuru drew his lips right down to Shoma’s hips, where the waistband of his sweats was slung low, and there he paused, rolling his eyes up. 

“Where?” He asked again. Something low in Shoma’s gut tightened. He gestured to his left hip, where the pain still lingered right at the joint of his thigh. Yuzuru raised his hand, and brushed the very tips of his fingers over the abused area, mapping it out. 

“Here?” 

Shoma nodded. Yuzuru let his gaze linger on Shoma’s for a little longer, and then tilted sideways, and pressed his lips tenderly over the same spot. Shoma drew in a sharp breath. It didn’t hurt, not anymore than the general heavy ache of a well-done bruise, but the kiss was so gentle, and so thoroughly unexpected. 

Something strange and big and billowing expanded in his chest, a pressure that squeezed all the air from his lungs, taking up space and space and more space until there was none left to take. Shoma watched Yuzuru kiss gently at his wound, and the fullness in his chest pressed so heavily, it made his eyes sting. 

Yuzuru moved back, and settled his fingers on the waistband of Shoma’s sweats, tapping at his unmarred hip with the other hand. “Up.” 

Shoma lifted his hips obediently, and Yuzuru drew his sweats down slowly. Not all the way, just low enough to expose his thighs, and as he did so he hissed, eyes roving over the still developing bruise. Already, it was a deep, mottled purple, so densely coloured that Shoma might’ve thought it were make up if he’d seen it on anybody else. Yuzuru seemed more hesitant to touch, now, fingers hovering over the skin without making contact. Shoma scratched absently at the back of Yuzuru’s head, and shrugged when Yuzuru looked up at him. 

“It wasn’t that bad before,” he said. Yuzuru looked back at the welt, using the very tips of his fingers to push the edge of Shoma’s underwear up and out of the way, then he kissed it again, impossibly more gentle than before. 

“Trying to kiss it better?” Shoma asked, mouth tugging into a small smile. Yuzuru looked up at him with a matching smile of his own. 

“Is it working?” 

“Oh, definitely. One more kiss and it’ll be painless.” 

Yuzuru obliged him, then looked up again, and Shoma wrinkled his nose. 

“Maybe a few more, just to be sure.” 

Yuzuru peppered the same soft, barely there kisses all over the wound. He moved momentarily from between Shoma’s legs, enough to pull his sweats off completely, then kissed his way back up, alternating from one leg to the other, chuckling when his lips breezed over the inside of Shoma’s knees, ripping something like a squeal from his throat. He gave the bruise one last slight kiss before following the curve of Shoma’s leg around, and nipped his teeth teasingly at the flush on the inside of his thigh. 

“All better?” 

“Mm, I think so,” Shoma said, a little breathless. Yuzuru grinned wickedly at him. 

“Bet you don’t get treatment like that at any of your other training camps,” he said. “Whatever will you do if you go elsewhere?” 

Shoma shuddered. Yuzuru’s mouth was so very close to him, like this, and every word sent a shiver of breath over his cock. 

“I’m sure I’ll find someone willing to help,” he wheezed. He felt Yuzuru’s body stiffen between his legs. “Yuzu?” 

There was a pause, an uncomfortable silence stretching between them, and then, “Don’t.” 

Yuzuru wasn’t looking at him. His eyes were downcast, and from this angle Shoma couldn’t see his expression, but the tone of his voice was odd, unlike him. Weak wasn’t the right word, and it wasn’t needy enough to be pleading—honest, might be better. Raw. 

“Even if you don’t stay here,” Yuzuru said. He lowered his lips down to Shoma’s thigh, and they brushed against the flushed, sensitive skin there when he spoke again. “Don’t find someone else for this.” 

Shoma blinked down at him. He had heard Yuzuru get possessive in the past, but that had always been a part of something more, a primal response during their most intimate moments, _mine_ bleeding past Yuzuru’s lips as his hips stuttered against Shoma’s, filling him, laying claim. It was so strange, to hear the same sentiment spoken so quietly and so earnestly—a kind of vulnerability to his words that made Shoma feel almost guilty for the joke. 

“Okay,” he murmured, bringing his hand around to hold the side of Yuzuru’s face, brushing his thumb soothingly against Yuzuru’s cheek. “Okay, I won’t.” 

“Good.” 

Yuzuru dragged his lips up over Shoma’s groin, then nipped playfully along the waistband of his underwear, and just like that whatever small moment they’d had—the soft, warm promise in it—had passed. Shoma sucked in a breath and his back bowed a little off the mat. 

“Yuzu,” he gasped, before he could stop himself. Yuzuru hummed happily against his skin, biting little kisses down past his cock on the other side. He was still hard from Yuzuru’s earlier teasing, and though he was by no means desperate, he couldn’t help the way his body shifted, searching for pressure, friction. 

“Mhm?” 

“Mm, more.” 

Yuzuru said nothing. In fact, he gave no indication that he had heard Shoma at all. He simply continued his little nips, punctuated with the odd deeper, sucking kiss, and kept his mouth and hands resolutely away from the growing bulge in Shoma’s underwear. 

Shoma shuffled, bordering on impatient, and pushed halfheartedly at Yuzuru’s head. He was used to Yuzuru playing around like this, a little—he liked to draw it out, have Shoma squirming and needy before giving him what he wanted. Usually, a gentle push or nudge was enough to redirect him when Shoma was ready, but today, Yuzuru didn’t move. Shoma felt the resistance against his hand, where Yuzuru kept his head stoutly in place. 

He licked at the edge of Shoma’s underwear where the elastic sat against his thigh, completely content to ignore the persistent press of Shoma’s hand, attempting to redirect him. Shoma frowned and grumbled in frustration. 

“C’mon, Yuzu,” he said, crooking his knee and using his leg to push at Yuzuru’s head, too. But Yuzuru simply hummed, and dipped his kisses further to the inside of Shoma’s thigh, taking the trembling flesh between his lips and sucking until the skin ached. Shoma’s breath stuttered, and he splayed his leg, offering more of the twitching muscle to Yuzuru’s waiting lips and tongue.

“What’s the hurry?” Yuzuru said, barely more than a whisper tickling against Shoma’s leg. Shoma gave another soft moan. His fingers tunnelled deeper into Yuzuru’s hair, gripping lightly. 

“How much longer do you have the room?” 

Yuzuru laughed softly against him. He found the join at the top of Shoma’s thigh, a cluster of tendons that strained hard as bone beneath his skin, and mouthed at him there, nose and cheek nuzzling against his cock as he did. Shoma crooned, raising his hips off the mat, but before he could wriggle too much, Yuzuru lifted a hand and pressed his palm flat to Shoma’s belly. 

“Relax,” he said quietly. He nestled his face further into that point of contact, laving his tongue over the skin there, and slid his hand down low on Shoma’s abdomen, applying a surprising amount of pressure. Shoma’s hips sunk back to the mat, but Yuzuru didn’t lessen his hold. He kept Shoma pinned there, and turned his face towards his bulge instead. 

“Where is your next training camp?” 

Shoma raised his head and gave Yuzuru an exasperated look. He wasn’t looking at him, eyes focused instead on admiring Shoma’s length through his underwear; everything about his demeanor screamed complete nonchalance. It was almost irritating. 

“Is now really the time?” Shoma asked, and Yuzuru rolled his gaze up, then shrugged. 

“As good a time as any, don’t you think?” 

Yuzuru traced the tip of a finger over Shoma’s length, grinning catlike when Shoma shuddered and fought weakly against his hold, searching for more. 

“Can it wait?” 

“Nope,” Yuzuru said, popping his lips obnoxiously. “I’m interested now.” 

Growling in frustration, Shoma dropped his head back to the mat and grit his teeth. “California.”

“Mm,” Yuzuru hummed. He trailed his fingertip back down again. “Where else?”

“Chicago. Champéry. Osaka.”

Yuzuru looked up, cocking his head. His finger continued a frustratingly light back and forth over Shoma’s clothed cock, while his other hand held Shoma firmly in place. He had a little wiggle room to shimmy side to side, but lifting his hips deeper into the touch was impossible. 

“You’re gonna try them all?” 

Shoma nodded. Yuzuru’s delicate touch was thoroughly distracting, and danced on the brink of feeling _good_ —but it wasn’t enough. He found the head of Shoma’s cock, and circled the wet patch there lazily. Shoma’s hips strained hopelessly. 

Yuzuru pouted over at him. “It’s gonna take you _forever_ to decide where you want to stay,” he said. 

“I want to be careful,” Shoma breathed. “Pick somewhere that feels right.” 

The pad of Yuzuru’s thumb found Shoma’s tip through his underwear. Shoma hissed, and Yuzuru rubbed at him, further soaking the already wet fabric. 

“Here doesn’t feel right?” He asked. Shoma brought the back of one hand up to his mouth, smothering a small moan, as Yuzuru continued his torturous exploration. 

“It does,” Shoma said breathily. “But what if somewhere else feels better?” 

Yuzuru hummed. And then he lowered his head, and barely brushed his lips along Shoma’s length. Shoma reflexively tightened his grip on Yuzuru’s hair, anticipating more, but Yuzuru withdrew an inch, and looked up at him again. 

“You think it will?” 

Shoma’s eyes drifted shut as Yuzuru retraced his path, this time mouthing a little more solidly at him. 

When Shoma spoke, his voice came airy, distracted. “I won’t know if I don’t try.” 

Yuzuru seemed to consider this as he cupped his mouth against the side of Shoma’s erection, which was straining now beneath the fabric. He could have laughed—the pressure from his underwear was firmer and more relieving than Yuzuru’s lips, but burying himself in the damp heat of Yuzuru’s mouth was a far more alluring prospect than rutting pathetically against his own clothing. 

“But if you don’t try, you’ll never know what you’re missing out on anyway,” Yuzuru said. His every word felt hot against the thin fabric of Shoma’s underwear, the sensation enough to flutter Shoma’s lashes. “And here will still be the best fit.” 

“How come we’re using the same argument to make two very different points?” Shoma said into the back of his hand. He sounded thready and distant even in his own ears, preoccupied by the little kitten licks Yuzuru was giving him, lapping at the sizeable dark stain growing there. 

“We have two different perspectives,” Yuzuru said. The hand not pinning Shoma to the mat was running absent little patterns over one of Shoma’s thighs, tickling along the leg hole of his underwear, thumb reaching to press on the bridge of flesh behind Shoma’s balls. The pressure made him quake. 

“Yeah?” he rasped, opening his legs a little wider. Yuzuru was already nestled comfortably between them, laying on his stomach, feet kicked up behind him and crossed casually at the ankle. He might’ve been reading a book or playing on his phone, unbothered as he appeared, even with the tip of his tongue drawing lazy little circles against Shoma’s cock head. 

“Mmmhm.” The vibration of his humming pulled a longer, more drawn moan from Shoma’s throat, one he struggled to stifle, and he felt Yuzuru’s mouth spread into a smile against him. “I want you to stay, and you…” he pouted his lips and kissed Shoma’s tip firmly. “You don’t know what you want.” 

“That’s. Not true,” Shoma said quietly. He threaded his fingers more into Yuzuru’s hair, arching a little when Yuzuru’s mouth cupped around his head, tongue laving at him. “I know what I want. I just don’t know if— _a-aah, Yuzu_ ,” he wheezed, writhing when Yuzuru suckled teasingly at him, “—I just—don’t know if here is the best place for it, yet.” 

“Does it have to be the best?” Yuzuru murmured against him. Shoma gripped at his hair, stomach clenching with the effort of trying to push himself closer to Yuzuru’s mouth. “You said it’s good, right? Isn’t good enough?” 

Shoma lifted his head for a moment, looking down at Yuzuru, and saw him looking back, eyes upturned and staring openly at Shoma, waiting for a response. As Shoma watched him, Yuzuru opened his lips, wrapped them around the head of Shoma’s clothed cock, and sucked, drawing both the damp fabric and the aching flesh a little into his mouth. Shoma’s breath caught in his chest; it was the most substantial touch Yuzuru had given him so far, and the intensity of it pulled his stomach tight, arched his back from the mat. 

Shoma held Yuzuru’s head against him—Yuzuru was still trapping his hips against the ground, keeping him in place, but for a moment he allowed Shome to hold him close, and responded to Shoma’s every needy little moan and whimper with a rewarding sweep of his tongue, or else by cupping his lips tighter around him. 

“Yuzu— _god_ , I’m—” Shoma panted, sinking his other hand into the hair at the back of Yuzuru’s head and bending his knees, drawing his legs up either side of Yuzuru. He wanted to curl them around him, hold him there, but he knew too well how Yuzuru felt about being restrained like that—too claustrophobic, too out of control. His thighs quivered with the effort of holding back. “I’m—keep going, I’m gonna—.” 

And instantly, all stimulation was gone. The moment Shoma spoke, Yuzuru pulled away, and he looked up at Shoma with a wicked glint in his eye. His lips were red and swollen, irritated by the wet fabric rubbing against them, but he seemed thoroughly unbothered, focused solely on Shoma’s face, and watching the disappointment and disbelief there. 

“You didn’t answer my question,” Yuzuru said. Shoma blinked over at him. 

“What?” 

“I asked, isn’t ‘ _good’_ enough?” 

Shoma’s brain felt foggy and muddled. He ached, swollen and heavy from Yuzuru’s teasing and touching, and the familiar tightness that had built low in his abdomen had dissipated to nothing but a pitiful throb. It took him a moment to make sense of Yuzuru’s words, and when he did, he propped himself up on his elbows, staring down at Yuzuru, incredulous. 

“Can you ask me again, you know,” he motioned between Yuzuru’s face and his own neglected crotch, “ _after_?” 

Yuzuru’s expression turned dangerously mischievous. Shoma’s stomach flipped at Yuzuru’s sly smile, and something shamefully hot thrummed through him. 

“Or,” Yuzuru said, shuffling to brace his elbow on the mat between Shoma’s legs, and resting his chin on one hand, drumming his fingers absently against Shoma’s stomach, “you could answer me first. And then we can continue.” 

For a moment, they stared at one another, Yuzuru looking for all the world an innocent child, while Shoma put on the most ferocious glare he could muster. And then he huffed, and flopped flat on his back, throwing an arm over his eyes and sighing loudly. 

“Good is...good,” he said. Yuzuru’s fingers continued their idle tapping. “But I wanna be sure I’m making the right choice.” 

"You don't think it'll be a waste of time? If you try all those other coaches, and decide you wanna come back here anyway?"

Shoma shook his head. "I don't think so. I figure there'll be new things to learn from everybody, even if I decide in the end that they're not a good fit for me? I'll still be working. I'll still be training. Just...feeling things out for a while, I guess."

Yuzuru seemed suitably impressed with Shoma's response. He considered him for a moment, then popped his chin off his hand, and reached instead to hook a finger under the waistband of Shoma's underwear, running it from side to side, lifting the elastic tantalizingly. Shoma's hips raised reflexively, to let Yuzuru pull the piece off of him, but Yuzuru made no move to do so. He continued to toy with the fabric, stretching it, then letting it snap back into place. Shoma jumped a little, and lifted his arm to glare down at Yuzuru. Yuzuru grinned back at him. 

"So you're gonna _feel things out_ in California next?"

Shoma nodded. His mind felt clearer, but his body still throbbed, desperate for contact—while Yuzuru was completely content to keep his hands and lips and tongue to himself, save for the fingertips now drawing pointless little patterns up and down Shoma's belly.

"Yeah," Shoma said. Yuzuru made a musical little sound in the back of his throat, idly uncrossing his ankles only to recross them the other way. Shoma watched his every blasé move with bitter impatience; his body felt tight and tense, a wind-up toy twisted almost to the point of endurance, and if the look of happy satisfaction on Yuzuru's face was anything to go by, he had no plans to stop cranking him up any time soon.

Yuzuru's finger pushed under the leg hole of Shoma's underwear, next, and slid deep enough beneath the fabric to brush enticingly against his length. He tipped his head, smiling impishly up at Shoma.

"You think Raf's team will work this hard at keeping you?" He teased, running the end of his finger from base to tip and back again.

"I don't know," Shoma wheezed. And when Yuzuru showed no signs of furthering his casual touch, he added, perhaps a little snidely, "Nathan can be very persuasive." 

For a split second—a stretch of time so short Shoma wondered if perhaps he imagined it—Yuzuru froze. Head to toe he stilled, and Shoma was just raising his head to look down at him, opening his mouth to speak to him, when he felt Yuzuru's mouth press searingly hot to his stomach, one hand palming firmly at his cock.

The suddenness of the touch made him cry out. His hips rode up, and this time Yuzuru didn't stop him—he rubbed at him harder, the perfect amount of pressure while his lips sucked bruises into the skin of his abdomen, hard enough to make him gasp.

"Yuzu— _fuck_ ," Shoma hissed. He tipped his head back against the mat and bit at his lip, smothering a whimper, stomach and thighs clenching as he rolled himself up into Yuzuru's grip. " _Oh_ —that—like that, feels so good."

It was embarrassing, how quickly Yuzuru's well-trained touch could undo him. But Yuzuru had taken the time to memorise all the right buttons to press. Even at Worlds—after so many months apart, barely finding the time to so much as talk to one another—Yuzuru had played him like a finely tuned instrument.

He could pull Shoma apart in mere moments, and Shoma loved it and loathed it in equal measure.

And he seemed to be making a point of proving it now. He bit his way up to Shoma's chest, nipped at the skin there, close to his nipple but not touching. Stimulating, but not too much—not to the point of pain. Yuzuru knew all the places in which Shoma was most reactive, and clearly, he had learned when to push and when to simply tease, let the anticipation do the work. The pinch of teeth, so near to such delicate flesh, made Shoma's head spin.

His palm, meanwhile, ground in little circles against Shoma's cock, meeting every needy roll of his hips. 

He gave one more deep, sucking kiss to Shoma's chest, and then moved away, withdrawing the dizzying press of his hand against Shoma's length, leaving him untouched and pressing himself helplessly into nothing but air. Shoma gave an indignant little cry and darted his hand out, reaching for Yuzuru's wrist to bring him back, but Yuzuru moved out of reach, settling back between Shoma's hips with an oddly determined expression.

"Wha—what the _hell_ , Yuzuru!" Shoma groaned. He dropped his hips back to the mat, wincing at the pang of pain in his hip. Though Yuzuru did not look entirely happy, he still reached out a hand, and tenderly traced the deep bruise there as if to soothe it. The delicate touch contrasted wildly with the stormy little frown on Yuzuru's face.

"You think he would?" Yuzuru asked. Shoma blinked up at him, panted breaths slowly returning to normal. His confusion must have shown, for Yuzuru added, "Nathan. Do you think he'd try hard to get you to stay there?"

Slowly, Shoma shook his head. His rapid heartbeat was settling again, but there was still a barely perceptible shake to his legs, and every little bit of his pelvis pulsed, blood pumping to excite the most sensitive parts of him. Shoma reached out to brush Yuzuru's hair out of his face, tucking a chunk of it behind his ear. Yuzuru leaned his cheek into Shoma's palm, then turned his head, and pressed a soft kiss to it.

"No," Shoma said honestly. And then, when the moment stretched too long and the tightness in his chest threatened to overwhelm him, he said, "I don't think anyone would try _this_ hard."

Yuzuru smiled into Shoma's hand.

"Mmm," he hummed, giving Shoma's palm another quick kiss, then leaning down, and pressing an equally quick one to the outline of his length, still straining uncomfortably in his underwear. "I don't think any other team tries quite as hard as we do to make new arrivals feel welcome."

Shoma snorted, fingers curling behind Yuzuru's ear, holding his breath as Yuzuru once again hooked his fingers into the waistband of his underwear.

"You give everyone such special treatment when they first get here?" Shoma asked, obediently lifting his hips at Yuzuru's quiet insistence. Yuzuru pulled his briefs down slowly with one hand. The other he snaked around Shoma's hip to hold the small of his back, bearing a little of his weight and easing the burden on his smarting left side.

"Nope," Yuzuru said as Shoma's cock came free, bouncing lewdly to rest against his belly. "Only the ones I like."

Something acrid simmered in Shoma's stomach. Perhaps it was selfish of him, but he didn't much like the idea of Yuzuru doing this with somebody else, joking tease or not.

Shoma thought he hid his twinge of jealousy well, offering up a tiny, staged moan instead, but Yuzuru must have noticed something off, for he pressed a long, pacifying kiss to the soft inside of Shoma's thigh and whispered something that might have been _sorry_. Shoma squirmed uncomfortably. The tense little moment stagnated between them as Yuzuru switched his kisses from one leg to the other, tossing Shoma’s underwear uncaringly to one side, and Shoma thought of something he could say to cover up his envious little tick.

"So," Yuzuru said, saving Shoma the trouble. "What do we have to do to convince you to stay at the Cricket Club?"

Shoma choked out a quiet laugh.

"Hope that everywhere else I go is terrible, I guess," he said. Yuzuru grinned against him.

"Are you encouraging me to sabotage?" He asked. Shoma reached down and tugged at a lock of Yuzuru's hair, tutting quietly.

"I said _hope_ , not _make sure."_

Yuzuru’s responding laugh was buried in the crook of Shoma’s thigh. The sensation made Shoma jolt, and shudder out a long, sighing breath. Yuzuru sighed, too, breath pouring out over Shoma’s skin as he skimmed his lips up the tender point where Shoma’s thigh met his pelvis. It was difficult to tell if Yuzuru was intentionally avoiding any and all contact with Shoma’s erection despite kissing so tantalizingly close to it, or if his chosen path simply didn’t bring him quite close enough. Shoma had his suspicions, though. 

“There must be something else we can do?” Yuzuru asked. 

Shoma raised himself up a little from the mat and looked down. Yuzuru’s long, lithe body was extended beautifully in the cradle of Shoma’s legs, and Shoma’s eyes followed every familiar dip and curve of him, from calf to knee to thigh, the swell of his ass and the slope of his back, to the broadness of his shoulders and the strong muscles of his arms. Yuzuru was so thin, appeared so brittle, but this close, Shoma could see every distinct sinew showcasing a strength more powerful than Shoma’s own. 

He looked at Yuzuru’s face—lips still puffy and scarlet, eyes dark, but shining, hair dishevelled from the constant shift and grip of Shoma’s fingers in it. He looked messy, eager. Beautiful. Shoma’s chest clenched painfully, looking at him, and a heat spread through him, different from the heady thrum of arousal; something softer that filled him from head to toe. Fondness. Affection. It took an awful lot of strength to fight the urge to sit up and kiss him. 

“I don’t know,” Shoma said, feeling his cheeks growing steadily more pink. Yuzuru was looking at him steadily, entirely unaffected. Shoma felt almost stupid for being so _bothered_. 

“C’mon,” Yuzuru crooned, “you must have some ideas?” 

Shoma watched as Yuzuru dipped his head and mouthed pointedly at a patch of skin so painfully close to the base of Shoma’s cock, all the while keeping his eyes locked on Shoma’s. Shoma gave an impatient wriggle, urging for more, but Yuzuru brought his hand up once more and flattened it low on Shoma’s stomach, holding him in place again. 

“You can stop—doing _that_ ,” Shoma huffed. He splayed his legs when Yuzuru sucked at him, moaning out quietly. It was difficult to hold on to his frustration when Yuzuru was steadily picking him apart at the seams. 

“Doing what?” Yuzuru said innocently. Shoma bumped the side of his head with shaking thigh. 

“You know what.” 

“Mm, I don’t think I do,” Yuzuru sing-songed happily. The little flash of a smirk on his face was _infuriating_ , but Shoma only saw it briefly, before Yuzuru buried it again in the crook of his thigh. 

“ _This_ ,” Shoma said through gritted teeth. “You’re—doing this on purpose.” 

Yuzuru dropped a series of wet kisses along the insides of Shoma’s legs, humming quietly, evidently very pleased with himself. And then he said, “You want me to stop?” 

“ _Yes_ ,” Shoma hissed, and then, “no—just—” he tugged pitifully at Yuzuru’s hair, whining when he refused to move. “ _Please_.” 

“Please what?” His words blew a stream of cold air over Shoma’s damp skin, raising goosebumps over the abused flesh. 

“ _Touch me._ ” 

“I already am,” Yuzuru said placidly. Shoma curled one leg up and dug his heel into the small of Yuzuru’s back. 

“Yuzu—you know what I mean.” 

“You’re gonna have to be more specific.” 

“You _know_ ,” Shoma growled, waving his hand towards his erection, face throbbing with heat. 

“What,” Yuzuru said, “you mean _here_?” With a playful little smirk, Yuzuru stroked the very tip of his finger against the base of Shoma's cock. It twitched at the sudden, ticklish contact, and an obscene stream of fluid beaded from his tip and spilled in a puddle against his stomach. Shoma let out a groan, in part embarrassed at the intensity of his response to such a simple touch, and covered his mouth again with the back of his hand, neck and cheeks hot.

Shifting restlessly, he nodded.

“Like this?” Yuzuru breathed, dotting butterfly kisses to his shaft, right at the root, nuzzling against him. The hand on Shoma's stomach pressed down hard, holding him firmly when he gave an almost violent jerk, a needy little wail bleeding out of him. 

Shoma stared up at the ceiling, eyelids fluttering as Yuzuru grazed his lips up the underside of his erection. He lifted his head groggily when Yuzuru stilled, blinking down at him—Yuzuru's eyes were upturned, twinkling brightly when Shoma gave another moan, this one louder, less controlled. 

“What about that? Is that what you want?” 

“Mhm,” Shoma mewled, “Yeah, that’s— _aah_.” Yuzuru opened his mouth against the side of Shoma's shaft and ran his tongue languidly over the hot, swollen flesh. Shoma drew in a quick, sharp breath, and fisted his fingers lightly into Yuzuru's tangled hair, his own head falling back slowly, mouth dropping open helplessly as Yuzuru licked at him. 

“That?” Yuzuru’s voice came so quietly, Shoma almost didn’t hear him. The words filtered sluggishly through the air between them. Yuzuru’s coaxing touches had lulled Shoma into a haze, the murky fog in his head making it difficult to concentrate on anything but the brush of his lips of the lap of his tongue. He nodded drunkenly, and impulsively brought his legs up close to Yuzuru’s head again, fighting the urge to hold him in place. 

“ _God_ , Yuzu,” Shoma coughed out, “yes—more.” 

“And if I give you more? You’ll stay here?” 

Shoma fidgeted uncomfortably. It was so very tempting, to give in to Yuzuru's demands now. To say and do whatever Yuzuru desired of him, please him, reap the reward Yuzuru was dangling so enticingly before him. It would be so _easy_ to say yes. He could pour baseless promises into the space between them and Yuzuru would open so willingly to him—draw him in with lips and cheeks and tongue, give him the release he so desperately craved.

But if there was one thing that Shoma hated, it was dishonesty. The thought of making a promise to Yuzuru now, one that he wasn't sure he could keep—of _lying_ to him—even in a situation like this, made his skin crawl.

“Yuzu, I can’t—I don’t know if I _will_.” 

Yuzuru pulled away from him with a lamenting kind of sigh, licking his lips and reaching instead to trace the end of his finger up and down Shoma’s length. 

“Then I don’t know if I can keep going.” 

Shoma tightened his grip in Yuzuru’s hair a little desperately. His other hand darted out, reaching to grab at Yuzuru’s neck, his shoulder, his arm, anything he could reach to keep Yuzuru where he was. 

“No—Yuzu, please don’t stop. I need—” Shoma squirmed beneath the press of Yuzuru’s hand, trying fruitlessly to push his hips up, close, searching for any little bit of relief. 

“All you have to do,” Yuzuru said, “is say you’ll stay here. It’s that easy.” 

“Yuzuru.” It was almost a sob, pitifully frustrated. He felt stuck, no way of moving forward, unwilling to go back. He wanted what Yuzuru had to offer, wanted it so badly it ached, but the compromise was frightening, and Shoma shifted uneasily on the mat. 

He looked at Yuzuru helplessly, and Yuzuru looked back at him, and as he did, Shoma saw a little of the spark in his eye die down, gaze shifting from coy to something softer. Shoma wondered if Yuzuru had felt the shift in tension in him, for he turned his head to kiss Shoma's leg gently, thumb rubbing little circles in Shoma's abdomen. His other hand settled on Shoma's thigh, sweeping up and down it soothingly. Each individual move was gentle, calming, so unlike the deliberate, titillating touches from before.

He kissed Shoma's leg again, and then, in a tone quietly serious and with no signs of teasing, he said, "We can stop, if you want to."

And Shoma understood it this time not as a threat, but as an out. Yuzuru was opening a door for him, now; an opportunity to pull out of this little game he had started, if Shoma really wanted to; a sign that Yuzuru wasn't being serious, that this is just play. It's meant to be _fun_. And if Shoma isn't enjoying himself, they can stop—he is allowed to give up.

Somehow, knowing now that his answer here does not have to be final, that Yuzuru isn't _expecting_ it to be, put Shoma at ease. He thumbed softly at Yuzuru's cheek, and then absently at the corner of his mouth, brushing over his pillowy bottom lip.

"I don't," Shoma said quietly. "I don't want to stop."

Yuzuru took a moment to consider him. His eyes scanned Shoma's face, darting over it, as though he were checking to make sure that Shoma understood him, that he was content to keep going. And then, with a wry smile, he sank his head back down and continued his attentions, though more fiercely now. Licking a solid stripe from base to tip, tonguing at a particularly delicate piece of skin beneath the head, suctioning his lips against different spots on Shoma's now-hypersensitive cock, over and over and over again, bringing him steadily higher. Shoma's belly quivered beneath Yuzuru's hand, the muscles in his thighs and hips ached, desperate to rut up, seeking more.

Yuzuru worked him over thoroughly, until he was squirming, chest heaving, pinned pathetically to the mat.

And then, infuriatingly, he stopped.

Shoma let out a long, distressed keen. “ _Yuzuru_ , what—” 

“So?” he said, watching Shoma intently. “Will you tell me you’ll stay?” 

“Yes,” Shoma rasped without thought, throat tight in his desperation, “Yes, fuck, Yuzu please—” 

“Yeah?” 

“ _Yes_.” 

Shoma didn’t have the brain power to think about what he was saying, nor did he care. He wanted Yuzuru’s mouth back on him, and he would do just about anything to get it. 

“Are you still going to California?” 

“I have to,” Shoma said. He gasped and writhed when Yuzuru sucked lazily at that same spot beneath his head, flicking the tip of his tongue against it. “I’ve already— _oh_ —already agreed. I can’t _not_ go.” 

“Not even if you tell them you’ve made your decision?” 

“They made time for me.” His voice rose humiliatingly in pitch on the last word as Yuzuru hummed against him, sending a delicious vibration rumbling through him. He whined, and strained to push harder against Yuzuru’s open lips, but Yuzuru closed his teeth, a barrier Shoma could only push pathetically against, praying Yuzuru would take pity on him soon. It was becoming almost impossible to string words together, while Yuzuru was toying with him. “I have to at least—turn up. To all my camps.” 

“But you’ll come back?” Yuzuru murmured. He kissed Shoma’s tip gently, and Shoma’s cock gave a needy twitch, bumping against Yuzuru’s chin. “When you’re done? You’ll come back here?” 

“Yeah,” Shoma breathed. He pushed Yuzuru’s hair back off his forehead with a shaking hand, better to see his upturned eyes, and a jerky moan quavered out of him as Yuzuru suctioned his lips against his head. “Yes! Yes, fuck, I’ll come back— _haah-ah_ —please—” 

Yuzuru pulled away, though barely. His pouted lips still in contact with Shoma’s flushed tip, he said, “Promise me.” 

“I promise,” Shoma gasped. The temptation was too much. Yuzuru’s lips felt soft and warm, inviting, and Shoma could wait no longer. He bowed his back, cock jumping, and rasped, “I promise. I’ll stay, just— _please_.” 

“Okay.” 

Shoma had become so accustomed to his frustration, to having Yuzuru throw him new challenges every time he thought he had done enough, that Yuzuru’s agreement was wholly unexpected. As was the warmth of his fingers closing around Shoma’s erection, stroking over him languidly. Shoma groaned, low and loud, undulating into the steady grip of Yuzuru’s fist around him. He rubbed his palm over Shoma’s tip gathering the slick fluid there, and spread it down his shaft. 

“ _Oh_ ,” Shoma sighed, eyes drifting closed, fucking up slowly into Yuzuru’s hold with the little moving room Yuzuru allowed him. “ _God_ , Yuzu…” 

“That good?” Yuzuru murmured. Shoma nodded dumbly. 

“Yeah. It’s—keep going.” 

Again, Shoma half expected this luxurious contact to be snatched from him, but Yuzuru did no such thing. He continued to stroke him, gripping steadily more firmly, and as he did, he began once more to pepper kisses over him. He kissed around his own hand, above and below the rhythmic pump of his fist, a mixture of delicate little pecks and deeper, more leisurely laves. 

“How’s that?” Yuzuru muttered against him. 

“Perfect,” Shoma purred, and felt Yuzuru smile against him. 

“Mm. Good.” 

He kissed the end of Shoma’s length solidly. The pump of his fist stopped, though he did not loosen his grip. 

Dazedly, Shoma lifted his head, and looked down at Yuzuru just in time to see his pouted lips press against his tip.

And split slowly open as he sank his way down. 

Shoma’s mouth dropped open, eyes rolling back in his head as Yuzuru took him in. The inside of his mouth felt hot, wet, tight, and he drew Shoma in slowly, bit by agonising bit. It took everything in him not to fuck up, for Yuzuru’s hand had relinquished it’s hold on his abdomen, but he knew better. Knew Yuzuru would choke, withdraw with a pout, forever unhappy about this one area in which he was lacking. 

It didn’t matter to Shoma, though. He preferred it like this, shallow, but with every little bit of Yuzuru’s mouth working him over, sucking him steadily, tongue roving over and around his tip, and then flattening against the underside of him. He preferred to hear Yuzuru’s quiet little moans and hums, happy to taste the pleasure he was pulling out of Shoma with every passing moment. 

Shoma reached down and found the hinge of Yuzuru’s jaw, stretched wide to accommodate Shoma’s erection, and brushed his thumb over it. Yuzuru rewarded him with a pleased little mewl. Shoma’s hips arched off the mat, and Yuzuru reached under him, supporting his lower back much like before, though this time the touch was light—a hold, for the simple sake of close contact. Shoma trailed his hand from Yuzuru’s jaw to his shoulder, panting, breath coming quicker and more ragged with every rhythmic suck. 

He followed the lean muscle of Yuzuru’s arm to his elbow, and then, reaching under himself, gripped Yuzuru’s wrist, and tugged clumsily at him until he moved his arm out from beneath Shoma’s back. He fumbled for Yuzuru’s hand, a keen pouring out of him as Yuzuru tongued at his slit. 

Yuzuru made a placating little sound. He grabbed Shoma’s trembling hand to still it, then slowly, gently, threaded his fingers through Shoma’s, palm to palm, and gave him one reassuring squeeze. Shoma squeezed back hard. Yuzuru pulled off of him slowly, barely. 

“Okay?” He asked quietly. Shoma nodded, reached down to stroke Yuzuru’s hair with his other hand. 

“Yeah,” he murmured, barely more than a whisper. “Keep going.” 

Yuzuru returned his mouth, and Shoma lay his head back, lolling it to the side as Yuzuru took him a little deeper, testing his own boundaries, withdrawing to pant a few breaths when Shoma’s cock met the back of his throat. 

Shoma had all but forgotten about the mirror wall. 

He blinked hazily at his own reflection. His jaw was pink, a ruddy flush colouring from his cheek and down his neck, and his lips were parted, dry and bitten, little red indentations where his teeth had sunk in, raw and threatening to split. His shirt was still tucked up high on his torso, fabric crumpled and folded just beneath his armpits, and beneath the hem, his chest heaved, shuddering with every choked out breath. 

He could see his right hand knotted together with Yuzuru’s left, laying on the mat, Yuzuru’s arm hooked over Shoma’s thigh so that he could brace himself on his elbow. And he could see Yuzuru’s head bobbing on his length, the line of his back stretched out between Shoma’s legs, and—oh. Shoma’s gaze fell on the curve of Yuzuru’s ass, the tell-tale bunch of the muscles there and in his thighs, a regular pattern of tension as he moved his own hips. 

Shoma looked down at Yuzuru, and moaned loudly. Yuzuru had wedged his other hand beneath himself, and was grinding steadily against it. Shoma could hear Yuzuru’s soft little groans, muffled by Shoma’s cock in his mouth, and he could feel them gently vibrating against him.

“Shit, Yuzu…”

Shoma rolled his head back to the side and watched their reflection in the mirror, rocking his hips up into Yuzuru’s waiting mouth, his hand once more cradling the back of Yuzuru’s head. It was easier to watch Yuzuru like this, to see the way his body shifted, see his mouth stretched around Shoma’s length, watch it disappear between his lips. Heat pooled low in his stomach, a telling kind of tension brewing, knotting low in his back. Coiling, ready to snap. When he spoke, it was thready, gasping. 

“I’m gonna come.” 

Yuzuru hummed and squeezed Shoma’s hand, acknowledging him. Shoma’s left leg bent up, foot planted on the mat for leverage, and he gave a few unsteady, uneven thrusts into Yuzuru’s mouth, chasing that building feeling until it peaked, and broke. 

He came with a full body shudder, cock held between Yuzuru’s lips, feeling him swallow reflexively as Shoma spilled into his mouth. 

Yuzuru sucked at him until he was thoroughly spent. He collapsed back down to the mat, panting, and Yuzuru pulled off of him, but he didn’t look up with the cocky, satisfied smile Shoma was expecting. Instead, he let go of Shoma’s hand and dropped to rest his forehead on Shoma’s hip bone, clumsily shifting his weight to his own knees, groping at the tie on the front of his sweats, tugging the knot free and pushing his hand into the front of his pants. 

Shoma watched the jerk of Yuzuru’s arm as he tugged at himself, clumsy and frantic, taking far less care than he had done with Shoma’s body, and finishing with a grunt and a cry and Shoma’s fingernails scratching idly at his scalp. 

For a while, there is quiet, the only sound their heavy, slowly calming breaths. Yuzuru rolled his forehead against Shoma’s hip, then dragged himself up heavily, kneeling on the mat between Shoma’s legs. Shoma sat up, too, shirt falling back into place, and leaned forward, tucking his face into the crook of Yuzuru’s neck. 

Yuzuru kissed the top of his head. 

“You good?” He asked. Shoma nodded into his neck, then twisted, nudging his lips against the column of Yuzuru’s throat. 

“Are you?” Shoma asked. Yuzuru nodded, too. 

Shoma felt sleepy. He thought it might be easy to just shut his eyes like this, let Yuzuru bear his weight for a while and let the blissful pull of sleep draw him in. 

“Sho?” Yuzuru’s voice sounded oddly distant. Shoma blinked rapidly, forcing himself awake. 

“Yeah?” 

Yuzuru squirmed oddly against him. One of his hands came to rest on Shoma’s back. It felt so pleasantly warm, Shoma almost closed his eyes again. 

“You know I’m only kidding, right?” 

“Huh?” 

Yuzuru shifted again. “I...I _do_ want you to train here. I want you to stay. But I also want you to make the best choice for yourself, you know? And if that’s not here, it’s fine. You don’t really have to promise me anything.” 

Shoma wasn’t sure if he’d ever felt quite so endeared to Yuzuru as he did in that moment. The intensity of it, powerful and all-consuming, was almost frightening. 

“I know,” Shoma said. He craned his face up to kiss the underside of Yuzuru’s jaw. “I hope I can come back, though. I...really, _really_ like being here.” 

Yuzuru’s fingers hooked beneath Shoma’s chin, keeping his face upturned, and dropped a small, unhurried kiss to Shoma’s mouth. Shoma returned it in kind. He gripped loosely at the hem of Yuzuru’s shirt, and for a moment, allowed himself to have just this—Yuzuru’s lips on his, chaste and careful, feeling him blow out a shaky breath through his nose. 

He liked how it felt to be so pointlessly tender. He liked it so much, in fact, that the thought of going without it made something deep and distant within him _hurt_. It wasn’t a usual part of their interactions, not this kind of intimacy, but Shoma always revelled in it, when he was treated to such kindness. 

Shoma nosed at Yuzuru’s cheek before shifting up onto his knees, too, and knocking his brow against Yuzuru’s and squeezing his eyes closed. 

“Even if I don’t end up training here,” he said slowly, a small tremor giving way to his nerves, “I hope I can come back, maybe? When—if we both have the time?” 

The silence that followed felt leaden. Shoma waited, breath held in his lungs, and a trickle of fear began to fill him—what if Yuzuru said no? What if this was it? No Toronto, no...anything. That prospect scared Shoma far more than he’d ever care to admit out loud. 

He was on the verge of sitting back, rejection prickling painfully beneath his skin, when Yuzuru’s palm settled warm and soft against the side of Shoma’s neck, and his lips brush the end of his nose. 

“Whenever you want,” he said. He kissed first Shoma’s left cheek, then his right. “You’re always welcome.” He kissed Shoma’s forehead, his chin. “Always.” 

Flushing hot and eyes oddly watery, Shoma asked, “What about when we’re not competing anymore?” 

Yuzuru kissed Shoma’s closed eyelids. “Then we’ll have all the time in the world, won’t we?” 

Shoma coughed out a wet laugh. He reached for Yuzuru’s wrist and grabbed it, squeezing tightly. Yuzuru's reassurance made him feel weightless. He feared he might drift up and away with nothing to ground him; Yuzuru's arm felt like a lifeline in his hand, pulse pumping sure and steady beneath his fingers. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from laughing, for he was unsure if a sob might break free instead.

Yuzuru kissed Shoma's chin, and then his trembling lips, and Shoma curled into him, burrowing his face into the side of Yuzuru's neck again, sniffling weakly. Yuzuru held him there, pressing his own face into Shoma's hair.

Shoma sniffed again and hiccuped. Yuzuru laughed quietly against his scalp.

"Why are you crying?" he asked. Shoma shrugged.

"I don't know," he muttered. And it was true; he wasn't sure at all what emotion it was that had flooded him—relief, perhaps, or else a happiness beyond anything he'd felt before. Maybe both. Either way, it took him a moment to compose himself, and even when he did he remained where he was, cuddled neatly into Yuzuru's chest.

He lost track of time, like that. Nestled against Yuzuru's warm body, in the quiet of the room. Yuzuru's music must have stopped playing long ago—Shoma remembered him turning it down, but not off completely. Absently he wondered how much time had passed; somehow it felt like forever, yet somehow not nearly long enough.

Yuzuru tapped him on his still bare thigh. Shoma grunted, and buried deeper into Yuzuru's hold.

"Shoma," Yuzuru said. Shoma ignored him. Yuzuru was going to tell him they had to _move_ , and that was the last thing he wanted to do. "Shoma. Hey."

"I can't hear you."

"Liar."

"I never lie."

Yuzuru dug the point of his chin into the top of Shoma's head, making him yelp and pull away abruptly, shooting him an offended look and rubbing at his crown.

"What the hell was that for?"

Yuzuru poked out his tongue teasingly, then scooped up Shoma's underwear and sweats and tossed them into his lap. "We have to _go_. My session ended ages ago."

Shoma balked, paling a little.

"Wha—Yuzuru! Why didn't you say sooner?"

"I _tried_ ," Yuzuru said. He clambered to his feet, dusting himself off, and then winced, tugging awkwardly at the crotch of his pants. "Get dressed. I need to go—change."

Shoma watched Yuzuru waddle uncomfortably to the corner of the room where they had discarded their bags and bend over stiffly, rifling through his things and pulling out a pair of shorts. Shoma eyed his own sticky, drying pants somewhat enviously. He only had his training clothes to change into, and they would still be cold and damp from practice.

He grimaced down at the telling stain on his sweats. Cold wet trousers would be better than walking around with _that_.

He was reluctantly manoeuvring his underwear to pull them on, when a fresh pair of shorts flopped into his lap. Startled, he looked up, and saw Yuzuru packing things back into his bag.

"They're not that clean," Yuzuru said, "but they're dry, and at least you won't look like you peed yourself in them."

"Very funny," Shoma said, though he yanked them on appreciatively. They were a little longer on him than they would be on Yuzuru, and he had to undo the ties to fit them at his waist, but they were dry and comfortable at least. Yuzuru gave him another catlike grin.

"C'mon," Yuzuru said. Shoma scooped up the mat and laid it neatly on top of the pile. It looked innocuous enough, miraculously free of any stains, but Shoma still felt a little guilty leaving it for someone else to use. Yuzuru handed him his bag when he walked over, and then the handle of his case, turned him, and when he dragged his feet, nudged him towards the door. "We should go like, now, before someone decides they want the room."

"I'm going," Shoma said, though he took a deliberately long time shuffling one foot in front of the other. Yuzuru grabbed a lock of hair at the back of Shoma's head and pulled, planting a quick kiss to his forehead when Shoma threw his head back with a yelp. Shoma frowned upside down at him, and Yuzuru only smiled. 

"Go _faster_."

* * *

It was as they were leaving, dragging their bags down the corridor, that Yuzuru froze on the spot, and Shoma turned to watch the colour drain slowly from his face.

"Yuzu? What's wrong?"

Yuzuru seemed to have drifted into some kind of trance. His eyes were wide, staring unseeing at the corridor ahead. Shoma looked around. Nobody had appeared, nothing seemed visibly amiss. He wondered for a moment if he should be worried—perhaps Yuzuru could see something he couldn't, and in that scenario he wasn't sure whether he should worry about Yuzuru's health or his own.

And then Yuzuru shook his head, swallowing dryly and resuming his pace, albeit looking just a little jittery on his feet.

"Nothing," he said, delayed. "Nothing. Everything is fine."

Shoma narrowed his eyes. That certainly didn't sound like an _everything is fine_ kind of tone.

"Yuzuru," Shoma said, skeptical.

"It's _fine_ ," he said again. Shoma squinted at him for a second more, but Yuzuru showed no signs of talking to him more. With a muffled sigh, Shoma turned on his heel, and continued on down the corridor.

And behind him, Yuzuru mumbled something, under his breath, muttered so quietly that Shoma almost didn't hear it. 

_Almost._

"Maybe Tracy can clear the security footage before Brian gets back."

**Author's Note:**

> For more dumb fic content, you can follow me on twitter @ [shomaun_ho](https://twitter.com/Shomaun_ho), and you can send me more prompts/ideas over on [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/Shomaun_ho)
> 
> I know a lot of people are shy commenting on smut fics, particularly on rpf, but if you did want to give some kind of anonymous feedback, I'd love to hear from you on curious cat <3 minimal comments makes me a dumb sad


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